


Care and Training of your Roman Soldier

by cyndrarae



Category: The Eagle (2011)
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-20
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndrarae/pseuds/cyndrarae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus loses a bet, and against his basal nature, must give up control to his lover, Esca, for five whole days. Written in response to the prompt: "prostate milking" over at the_eagle_kink LJ community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care and Training of your Roman Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: m/m slash, bondage, prostate milking, orgasm denial, mention of figging.  
> Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing but the extremely graphic kinky sex.

**Marcus** tests his new set of bonds with deliberation. Not for want of being rid of them, although part of him does naturally want that. He fidgets and shifts on purpose as sweet revenge on his beautiful albeit fully-clothed lover, the one responsible to place him in this… precarious and preposterous position. The one with the slender, pale spine, that shudders violently at the mere sight of an exposed Marcus alone.

Two warm hands land squarely on the crest of his bare, upturned arse, making him flinch.

“Comfortable?” A soft rasp of a voice, recovering from the shakes no doubt, floats to his ears from somewhere behind him.

Marcus smirks and squirms again, for good measure. “Not as much as I was, spread-eagled on our bed inside. But somehow I doubt _comfort_ is ever your intention when you truss me up so.”

He hears his captor chuckle and reach out to test the six bonds that hold the Roman in place, on his knees and forehead, atop the courtyard’s dining table. Two to bind the bony ankles to two far corners of the table; two that encircle his knees propping them up and keeping them apart; one to twist and fold the strong arms behind the soldier’s back, and another that loosely collars the proud neck and pins it down to the surface he rests upon.

There is a seventh string of jute wrapped around his genitals in a strange contraption that Marcus finds as intriguing as it is infuriating. It keeps his balls pulled taut and his cock full under an angry shade of red, trapping him in the overwhelming sensation of an always-impending release. So very near, yet so bloody far away.

This is what the Centurion of the Ninth Legion has allowed himself to be reduced to: Stripped to the skin, bottom up, face down, and at complete mercy of his once slave and now lover: Esca, the Brigantian Prince.

Around them the Aquila household stands stock still and blessedly unoccupied by all except the two for another week. His uncle opted for a summery retreat in Naples shortly after the rains hit Cavalla, and Marcus granted the slaves a short reprieve from – well – their lives, if only for a while.

Esca places a deceptively gentle hand across the crest of the upturned arse, fondling it well. “You know you shouldn’t have bet against me. I warned you – these five days you’ve relinquished to me are not going to be easy.”

The squirms return and this time there is nothing vengeful or sweet about them. “Well, I didn’t expect to lose now, did I?”

Esca laughs again. “Betting against a Briton on the possibility of rain and you did not expect to lose?”

“Oh, alright. So I might have expected to be wrong by one or at most two days, not five!”

Esca pauses for a thought. “So you were prepared to lose! Dare I say it’d be reasonable to assume you don’t actually mind losing to me, do you?”

_Oh. Um._

“I suppose my tales of the Selgovaen tribe and their unconventional love-making practices managed to arouse your… curiosity then?”

Marcus bites his lip, regretting his inability to bite his tongue in time.

“Answer me, Marcus.” Esca implores again, his hand traversing to the cleft of his rear, drawing incessant circles in that traitorous little spot that urges Marcus to lose the last of his pride and beg for moderation.

“Tell me you might have even _hoped_ to lose? To cede control of your body over to me to do whatever I please, for however long I please it…”

Marcus can only manage an embarrassed little whimper in response.

Esca leans in to whisper in his lover’s ear. “It’s only been three days since I last relieved you, my love. Two since I last brushed a fingernail against your shaft. And I am more than happy to keep you teetering on the edge for another two–”

“No! I-I mean, yes, I did hope to lose, kind of. B-But, I cannot bear another moment of this, this… torment! Please, Esca, I need relief…”

“Hush, sweetheart. Be quiet and let me think. You understand I must punish you for this little deception of yours, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes, please… anything, anything…”

Marcus arches upwards involuntarily to push his rear further into the palm that proceeds to deftly pat a shade of baby pink into his skin. The hand is firm but never harsh, seems it has no intention to bring him any pain whatsoever. Only a slow-burning heat, the kind that mushrooms all over his naked backside and seeps through into his veins until it makes his blood sing. He growls with equal helplessness when the touch disappears, leaving him pushing back wantonly into nothingness.

“Esca, please just touch me… I-I can’t take it any longer,” he pleads, pride be damned.

This game has gone on long enough. His battle-worthy resolve is crumbling to pieces in the face of his lover’s highly skilled ministrations clearly targeted to drive him out of his mind! He strains against his bonds but they hold tight, not letting him escape.

“You promised me five days, Marcus. Surely your word still holds the same weight it did once, does it not?”

Marcus can only groan in response. “You’re killing me, you wretched little tease!”

Esca guffaws loudly, pitilessly, then drops a loud little kiss at the center of his sweat-soaked spine.

“Fine then. Let me make it a _touch_ easier for you.” And with that, he walks away, heading into the kitchens, leaving nothing but cool wind flittering across Marcus’ naked form. Marcus reminds himself there is no reason to panic – that this is his lover, his very own sweet Esca, albeit with a dormant vicious side.

But then he’s known of its existence for awhile now. It’s possibly why he loves him so much.

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead tiredly against the table, waiting for his keeper to return. It is the scent of jasmine and patchouli that rouses him from his short slumber and brings forth an instinctive moan to his lips. He knows what’s coming next. And a part of him wants to protest – _why does he get to achieve his fourth bliss of the day while I continue to writhe in frustration?_

But it’s a feeble little gripe; one Marcus himself is hard pressed to believe. Not when the rest of him is so shamelessly delighted and ridiculously, well, aquiver from head to last curling toe at the mere thought of once again being filled and fucked and owned by the only one he trusts to care for him so.

A couple of fingers, dipped in the recently warmed oil, press against his opening lovingly without breaching it. Marcus pushes back, demanding they do so immediately, and not make him wait like earlier that afternoon when Esca spent an eternity circling and massaging and tickling his orifice.

Esca shushes him instead. “Not this time, sweetheart.”

And now he’s confused, considering his sharp awareness of two fingers getting ready to lodge themselves inside of him. “What do you mean?”

“This is relief, but not the kind you’re hoping for. I am determined to see you through this well deserved five-day adventure.”

Marcus groans again, but Esca carries on as if he was never interrupted. “…and I promise you this full moon will bring you tremendous bouts of pleasure like you’ve never known before. I will make you explode with such fiery passion and ferocity…”

“Do it please, do it now!”

“Shhh… my charge, my rules, remember?”

The two fingers are inside him now, curving downwards, separating, seeking, resting against the delicate curves of his enigmatic sweet spot. And then they start to press, softly, insistently, fervently, up and down, up and down, up and down. And they don’t stop and they don’t relent and they send Marcus’ eyes rolling up in his head and his mouth split wide open around high-pitched sounds of a guttural, animalistic nature.

“Ahh! Ahhh! Ahhhh!!”

It’s terrifying and disconcerting – this feeling of being stimulated so rigorously and yet unable to find the necessary impetus to release this rapidly building pressure in his balls. He can’t stand it – he doesn’t _want_ it to stop – Gods, he’s losing his blasted mind! A decade passes before he realizes what’s being done to him – he’s being milked to discharge the excess juices through an insufficient mockery of an orgasm he so desperately craves.

“B-But wha- ahhh!?! Th-this is so unfair!!”

The fingers slow down, and a rush of steaming hot breaths shrouds his left ear. “Someday, my love, I will attempt to capture in words this breathtaking sight I behold: how magnificent you look, how enchantingly your sphincter trembles, how whorishly your buttocks wiggle just to have me stroke them. Someday, I might do justice to describing how incredibly beautiful, how perfectly divine you are, Marcus Flavius Aquila…”

“Don’t change the bloody subject!!”

Esca laughs, even as happy tears spill out the ends of Marcus’ eyes at the words. They almost manage to distract him from a thin line of seed trickling from his tortured cock, _almost_. The two fingers retreat and he sighs in relief, only for them to return with a fresh coat of oil to bother that peculiar spot inside him again. Meanwhile the bonds hold tight and offer no escape, except perhaps into his mind.

“Let go, Marcus,” a soft voice whispers from somewhere around him. “Undo your fists, and just let go.”

It’s an epiphany of sorts, a moment of simple but absolute clarity that washes the last of his defenses away. Marcus starts to lose his grip on consciousness, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still on edge, still unfulfilled, still desperate for relief. It doesn’t matter that he’s tied down and vulnerable, bent into the most humiliating position known to man. It doesn’t matter that he’s been reduced from a fearsome warrior to nothing more than an over-sensitized bundle of nerves, aching and trembling, soaked in his own tears and sweat and semen. Nothing matters but that exquisite and carnal itch deep inside him that forever needs scratching, that his trusted lover is now scratching, and will continue to scratch until _he_ sees fit. And that, suddenly, is _enough_.

He’s content to float on the ether of a surreal reality, happy to be strung along like a puppet on the ropes and fingers controlling his body, his mind, his very destiny. It’s enough, because Esca thinks it’s enough.

Little by little, the agony in his very-purple balls subsides, as does the thick haze of lust and dizziness clouding his brain. Marcus closes his eyes and grinds his forehead against the table, letting the moans come unabated. He surrenders himself completely to Esca, body, mind, heart and soul, to do exactly as he pleases, for as long as he pleases it.

 

***

 

 **Esca** senses it the second all the resistance melts away from Marcus’ body, and he smiles. He takes a moment to savor his victory, having finally succeeded in molding his gorgeous Roman lover into the life-mate he always wanted.

Marcus is his to keep, now and forever.

“Ready to settle down for the night, sweetheart?” He queries softly, hesitant to rupture the calm reverie his lover seems lost in.

“I couldn’t move if the Seal Prince himself were back from the dead and held his spear against my throat.”

Esca undoes the ropes and turns Marcus over, stretching his legs to preempt the cramping. He rubs the reddened skin of his soldier’s wrists, kisses the panting lips that are blessedly turned up into a glorious little smile.

“Undead or not, I wouldn’t let anyone have you ever again. Come on, back inside before old Caillech shears the skies open again.”

Esca helps his lover find his feet, wobbly as they may be. He ducks under the taller man’s arm bringing it to rest on his own shoulder and together they amble into the sleeping chambers they share. Laying him down, Esca covers the supine body with soft sheepskin blankets. Then he seats himself beside Marcus and pushes the wayward locks of hair away from the still warm forehead.

“Rest, love. You will need your strength for what I have in mind for you tomorrow,” he teases and instantly gets the response he hopes. Marcus’ eyes shoot open and glare at him with suspicion.

“I’m not going to be sitting on my arse anytime soon, am I?”

“Let’s just say I found a perfectly shaped root of Roman gingivere in the pantry that would help… spice things up?”

Marcus turns away, blushing adorably. Esca chortles and starts to disrobe himself. He is surprised when Marcus reaches out to grab his wrist a moment later.

“Are you a man of your word, Esca of Brigantes? You know, fiery passion and all?”

Esca gazes into the pair of hopeful golden eyes amusedly. “I suppose you will find out soon enough.”

Marcus sighs and turns to his side, shifting and pulling the covers away to make room for his companion. Stripping in a hurry, Esca slips into bed with his back against his lover’s broad chest and lets Marcus engulf him in his arms. He shivers as a hand caresses his chest, glides its way down to his stomach and stops at the stiffness underneath. Esca groans, but stops the hand from fisting around him.

“Together. We wait for the bliss that next full moon brings, and welcome it together.”

Marcus pulls him closer and breathes deeply into the crook of his lover’s neck. “I’m comfortable with that, my love.”

 

*** END ***


End file.
